


When The Angels Descended From The Heavens To Slay Dragons

by LaReineDuLune



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Action, Boys In Love, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Love, M/M, Romance, The author's dramatic license., monchevy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 03:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15548415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaReineDuLune/pseuds/LaReineDuLune
Summary: Post-Series 3. In which our dear Chevalier de Lorraine is a hero."The Chevalier would have thought the King would’ve learned his lesson about throwing a party in the middle of the garden with all of the court present when there was unrest with the peasants and not have them be surrounded on all sides by the royal guard.But alas, that was not the case."





	When The Angels Descended From The Heavens To Slay Dragons

When The Angels Descended From the Heavens to Slay Dragons  
©2018 La Rene du Lune

 

The Chevalier was unprepared for all the paths he’d travelled and all the threads he’d woven over the course of his life to instantaneously spin themselves together into one moment. Though what transpired happened in mere seconds, at the corresponding time Chevalier was assuaged with a myriad of thoughts. He’d not realized before that instant that he was truly willing to die if it meant his darling Philippe would be spared, along with their Liselotte. For the King, less so, but he was stood beside his brother and closely at that.

The second thought that sprang to the forefront of his mind was that in the same breath with which he surrendered his life, he surprised himself by owning that it was very courageous of him to do so. At the least, his love, his Mignonette, could be proud of him in his memoriam. The idea warmed him more than he’d ever thought possible. The tumult they’d endured and survived over their many years in each other’s orbit was a testament to the strength of their bond. He was proud of the men they’d become.

Thirdly, he was sad he’d not see little Philippe grow into the extraordinary man he knew the child of his love and the formidable mother would be. It surprised him, to say the least, but he’d grown fond of the precocious thing and after all, the child came from the two people he adored beyond measure.

Perhaps the court would miss his once scathing wit, his fashion and his flare, and the way in which he’d always been able to find the weakest link in the chain of courtiers and exploit it to his advantage. But those days were as long gone as his indulgences and infidelities. No, he’d become, much to his own shock, a man devoted to love and to family. How boring. Yet, how gratifying.

Finally, and perhaps most vexing was that after all this time, he’d have thought the King would’ve learned his lesson about throwing a party in the middle of the garden with all of the court present when there was unrest with the peasants and not have them be surrounded on all sides by the royal guard.

But alas, that was not the case.

They were assembled near the great fountain, the Dauphin having taken his leave of his father to re-enter the palace, the King, Liselotte and his darling Philippe stood in awkward silence with each other. Despite having made his peace with his brother, his love still retained a certain disdain for being kept under thumb. His cloistering was not too arduous, given that his wife and lover were friends tried and true and made every effort on a daily basis to simply make him smile, and be calm and content in spirit.

As the Chevalier approached the trio with look of mirth on his face, fully intent on suggesting something lascivious to Philippe in front of his brother. The King and he had also come to terms, but he wouldn’t be the Chevalier if he didn’t irk the man every once and a while. Liselotte would roll her eyes and perhaps even give him a playful smack, but she’d be smiling. The King would remark how tedious and predictable the Chevalier was becoming, and his Mignonette would admonish him, but his eyes would be a light and dancing in anticipation of the suggestion coming to fruition.

There was no conscious thought, no pretense, he acted. It was not so much the he saw their assailants as that he felt their presence, their approach, and their imminent attack. A shadow moved near the shrubbery and then he moved too.

He sprang forward and planted both his palm in the centre of Philippe’s and the King’s chests and pushed his all the might his momentum could muster. Surprised, they lost their balance and toppled into the waters of the fountain, sinking under and struggling to come up for air. Within the next moment, Chevalier had taken Liselotte by the waist and spun them around, throwing her to ground.

He cried out, but sloughed off the physical pain as he would his shirt. Bleeding, but determined he ignored the screams as more arrows flew out at the scattering members of the court. He paid no mind as they dropped one by one as the arrows pierced their bodies.

The first arrow had caught Chevalier’s shoulder, missing anything vital, but to his consternation, going straight through his very fine and favourite sky blue coat with the silver brocade at its cuffs, collar, and pockets.

He caught the look of sheer horror on Philippe’s face and quickly realized it was not from the shock of having been pushed into the fountain, but from seeing the long black shaft of the arrow sticking straight out from his love’s shoulder and the flowing blood seeping out and staining his coat crimson.

By now the guards were flooding the garden in search of the assassins, but they were felled as easy as the nobles. Obscured by their dark clothing and masks, they were not retreating, but instead readying for a second assault. Chevalier pulled the dagger from under his coat and jumped into the fray as the arrows were loosened again. He jumped over Philippe and into the water where a second arrow lanced through his thigh and hit the bone. Had he not, it surely would’ve pierced his love’s belly or his heart. The Chevalier roared and lunged, plunging the dagger into the heart of the man in black who came thrashing through the water with only the thought of killing the King to drive him. The wretch fell backwards as he died, but there was another to take his place. In fact, there were at least dozen.

The King and Liselotte were surrounded by their guards and being rushed to safety, but Philippe remained, having relieved a valiant Musketeer of his sword. The Chevalier lashed out indiscriminately at anything that moved. The cacophony of screams was overwhelming but even as he waned, he did not give up, not with his love there with him. He’d not show fear or pain, he’d not surrender. He’d give his last for his Prince. When the third arrow stuck in his gut, the dagger fell from his hand into the water and with it, his resolve was taken from him.

He felt as if he were floating high above the melée. Watching it all like a piece of theatre, a violent dance where one by one angels descended from the heavens to slay dragons.

 

“Help me, oh God, help me,” he vaguely heard Philippe cry out, followed by an anguished sob that sounded distant and faint. The Chevalier was held in Philippe’s arms close to his body. His darling Prince was bereft, sat in red water as tears streaked down his face. “Don’t leave me. Not now, not now. Please, please, please.” Had the Chevalier the will or the strength to respond, he’d have admonished Philippe for abandoning his sword and exposing himself while a battle still raged on around them. His love wept and his body shook uncontrollably as he clutched his dying lover. “God, do not take him, I beg you, please. I cannot be without him. I beg you. I beg you.”

Caught between this world and the next, the Chevalier mused that all that for blood Philippe had spilled, for all the wars he’d waged, and for all the dead soldiers that had lain at his feet, none of it had shaken him to this extent. The Chevalier was quite flattered. His darling’s poor soul had raged and been lit on fire in the heat of battle, but now it was drenched in fear and in sorrow and it was drowning.

Not half an hour later Philippe was clinging to his wife as his body trembled while the King’s personal physician tended to the Chevalier, who despite all odds, continued to breathe and the heart in his chest to beat. God had shown mercy and not taken him from them yet. At present, the Chevalier was blessed with unconsciousness as the arrow near his stomach was pulled free. He’d been lucky and the shot had been ill-fated and was stopped by his lowest rib. Blood bubbled forth, hot and bright and Philippe’s knees went weak. Liselotte held him firm with prayers spilling forth from her lips in a constant, whispered litany.

When the arrow was pulled from his leg, Chevalier came back to life with a mighty howl of agony. The doctor wasted not a second and removed the one from his shoulder, bringing forth with it another cry. Philippe could not restrain himself a moment longer and fell to his knees at Chevalier’s head, holding his face in his hands.

“Oh dear,” the Chevalier gasped, “It would appear I didn’t think things through before I acted.” He over his shoulder at Philippe’s anguished, tear streaked face. He felt a kiss pressed to his sweat soaked forehead. “You’re unhurt?”

“I’m not the one who took three arrows to his body. What were you thinking?”

“Apparently that the love of my life was about to be killed and that if I had any honour, I’d not let that happen. Not my best idea, granted. Honestly, who uses a bow and arrow anymore? Positively medieval.” His glib comments were followed by another howl of pain and the arching of back as the doctor poured some sort of astringent on one of this wounds. He collapsed back to the table on which he’d been placed and whimpered pitifully. His body convulsed and Philippe sobbed.

“You’re simply not allowed to die,” Philippe declared, dotting lingering kisses on his Chevalier’s face. “That’s an order!”

Chevalier was about to respond that he’d do his best and that he just loved it when Philippe was bossy, when a vial was put to his lips and he was ordered to drink. He coughed and reluctantly swallowed.

“My god, what is that swill?”

“It is a soporific known as laudanum,” the Doctor explain. “It will ease your pain and put you to sleep so that I may tend your wounds.”

The Chevalier seemed to accept the reassurance the physician offered, but they were soon forgotten as he began to tremble violently. “M’cold, Mignonette,” he mumbled, nuzzling Philippe’s hand where it rested on his cheek. “Mmm, warm me up, won’t you, my darling? You know what I like…”

“Even as he lays bleeding, he can’t resist flirting,” Lisolette observed with a sad, broken laugh. She shared a look with her husband and saw her own fears reflected back at her. The Chevalier’s colour had gone sallow and gray and his body did not cease in its shaking.

“I must hurry,” the Doctor spoke gravely.

“To sleep, perchance to dream…” Chevalier spoke as the laudanum took effect and he drifted away once more.

 

When he next found consciousness, the Chevalier discovered he’d been moved from the table in the salon where they’d laid him out, to a rather comfortable bed. Their bed. Liselotte was not there, but he surmised she was probably seeing to the baby. But, to his side, looking dishevelled, yet still devastatingly handsome, was his love. The pitiful thing looked stricken, staring at him with bloodshot eyes and an unwashed face. The Chevalier lifted an uncoordinated and heavy hand to pet Philippe’s hair, though he missed his mark and landed on his darling’s nose instead. Philippe caught his fingertips with his lips and kissed them.

“I feel like hell’s consumed me,” the Chevalier groaned, but added, “You have such pretty eyes, Mignonette.”

Philippe’s laughed, watery and relieved. “It’s been three days and we’re nearly dawning on a forth,” he choked out.

“M’hot.” Too weak to make any genuine effort, the Chevalier made a futile effort to kick off the blankets that covered him. With a gesture from the Prince, servants dutifully pulled down the bedding. Philippe rose from his chair and immediately and eased himself down next his wounded lover and took his hand in both of his, kissing the palm and then holding it to his face.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” Philippe confessed, tears brimming in his eyes. The Chevalier, wiped at them with the pad of his thumb. “If not to your wounds, then to the fever that’s been plaguing you all this time. The Doctor says you’ll survive. The moment we were certain your fever had broke I fell to my knees and praised God.”

“Lucky God,” the Chevalier mused. “My Mignonette, as if you could ever be rid of me. I’d have haunted you until you were old and gray and I when you were finally ready to join me on the other side, we’d be together forever.”

“I’m not sure Heaven would take us.”

“And Hell’s probably afraid we’d take over.”

“You did mention, during the fever. You also said you wouldn’t die because I’d look terrible in black mourning clothes.”

“Nonsense, you look ravishing in black. Speaking of ravishing, now that it appears I’m on the mend, I’d like a good ravishing if you’d kindly oblige.”

Philippe feigned outrage, but Chevalier could tell he was relieved more than anything. “You’ll lay in our bed until you are fully healed. You’re to convalesce for at least a month, after which my brother’s going to award you with lands and increase your stipend. There’ll also be a banquet in your honour. You did save his life after all.”

The Chevalier beamed at the idea of a banquet hosted by the King just for him. My god, he was becoming truly respectable.

“I didn’t do it for him.” The Chevalier’s words were earnest and Philippe grinned. He leaned down and caught the Chevalier’s lips for a kiss that left them both dizzy and comforted.

Philippe bestowed another kiss on the tip of his dear one’s nose. “I know, but let’s not tell him that. Agreed?”

“Agreed. Three days?” And with those words Philippe’s eyes darkened and his smile evaporated.

“The longest of my life. I’ve not left your side, despite Liselotte’s orders.”

“Speaking of our little strudel, where is she?”

“She held your hand, prayed for you, kissed you, and willed you not to leave us. Nearly losing you nearly broke her. When you were passed the worse of it, I convinced her to take her leave. Thank you for saving her too.”

“Well, she is the closest thing I’ll ever have to a wife. And…”

“And you love her.” They both did. It would never be with her as it was between them, but she was the light in darkness, and the fiercest women they’d ever had the privilege of knowing. She was theirs and they were hers.

“And I love her. Besides, who else is going to keep me the moral path? I’ve given up nearly all my vices, some of which I miss a great deal, except the fellatio and the sodomy of course. Speaking of which, I hope you’re ready, because the very second I’m back in top form, I will be taking my reward off you. For several hours.”

Philippe laughed, even as tears came unbidden to his eyes once more. He could not quite yet shake the torturous fear that had been strangling him, even as his sweet Chevalier was before him with all his wits and charm in tack.

“You’re a fool, but a brave one.”

Still weak as a newborn he made halted gesture, gulping hard as the pain in his body flared. Philippe admonished him with a hard stare, which was dismissed with a roll of the Chevalier’s eyes.

“What can I say? I am the Hephaestion to your Alexander the Great!”

“I rather you didn’t. Hephaestion died and Alexander mourned him until the grief consumed him and he succumbed to sorrow and followed him.”

“Ah, right, I always forget that part. The Patroclus to your Achilles then?”

“Also ended tragically.”

“Bah, are all lovers like us doomed? I suppose you’d get over me eventually.”

“I assure you, I would not.” Philippe caressed the plains of Chevalier’s face, his touch feather light. His eyes shone in the candlelight and the Chevalier smiled at the angelic picture before him.

“I wouldn’t have minded, dying a hero. To save your life? I’d give mine a thousand times over. I can picture it now. You would’ve built me a magnificent tomb, lots of gold and phallic symbols.”

“Pfft, a headstone at best, if you’re lucky.” There was a pause and Philippe closed his eyes and gripped the Chevalier’s hand a little tighter. Finally, after a long stretch of time, his eyes opened again and looked deep into the man who lay weak and fragile before him. “Philippe…” It was so rare to hear his own name spoken to him. They’d laughed at the absurd coincidence they shared the same first name long ago and had thought nothing of it since. The Chevalier preferred to be addressed as he was titled, so that no one forgot who he was, but hearing his name now from his true love’s lips, shook him to his foundations. The Chevalier could barely hold his love’s gaze for all the emotion that the simple utterance of his name had stirred. “I love you,” his brilliant star finally spoke.

“I love you,” was the Chevalier’s instant reply.

Philippe smile again in earnest. “We cannot marry, of course, but you should know, I think of you as my husband. The church will always deny and condemn us, but I wish you to know, and know it always, that from here on after, you are my husband.”

“And you are mine.” Hearing and speaking the words, their declaration of love eternal, bound by a marriage of choice and not politics, emboldened the Chevalier. He meant his claim upon Philippe as surely as it was made upon him.

“I will tell this to my brother.”

The Chevalier sobered immediately and sunk into his pillows. “Has anyone ever had a banquet held in his honour, only to be executed swiftly afterwards? Because you know that’s what he’ll do, don’t you? It’s one thing to declare it to each other, Mignonette, it’s another to do so before court. Will the Bishop be there? He could excommunicate me before my beheading.”

“I will announce it before the entire court. Everyone knows we’ve been lovers since the day we met. I’ll not change my mind on this. I don’t believe loving you is a sin.”

“It is technically heresy, my darling. We’re going to burn in Hell, apparently.”

“Then we will burn together for all eternity, like the stars.”

A mischievous grin spread across the Chevalier’s face and he preened like a bed ridden and wounded peacock at the image of the entire court being told they’d taken each other as husbands, with a wife! It was a lovely dream, one that he would very much like to come true. “That was beautiful, my darling. We musn’t tell Monsieur Molière he’s got competition!”

“Monsieur Molière isn’t speaking to you at the moment since word’s got around, being as at one point in your delirium you quoted Shakespeare.”

“I would never!” A look from his love confirmed it and the Chevalier was so horrified he quickly changed the subject. “Does your husband get a ring? A token of your devotion? Hmm?” Philippe’s eyes were dancing and the Chevalier could see how his beloved was picturing the future they were spinning together with their imaginations.

Philippe leaned in and caught his mouth for a sumptuous and hungry kiss. “If he likes,” the Prince whispered against the Chevalier’s lips.

“He would very much like. Sapphires in particular. He would also like a new trousseau before he is wed. Silk, from China if you please.”

“He’ll have it. Anything else?”

“It’s been ages since I’ve seen you in a gown. I’d like to see you in silver, shimmering like a cascade in the moonlight.”

“Very well. Is that all?”

“Love eternal, and another kiss.”

Philippe obliged him with the requested kiss, soft and perfect. “It is so promised.”

“Lastly…”

“Of course there’s more.” Philippe laughed and stole another kiss. “What else, my husband?”

“Stay with me while I sleep? I’m afraid all this talking has left me…” His words fell away and his eyes fluttered then closed. Their little game was over and they were once again vulnerable and reminded of their current predicament. He was laying in bed, held together with thread, and unable to move without considerable pain. It would be a long time before he was well enough to even stand, let alone return to their proper lives. They had come so close to leaving their happy lives and stepping into an endless nightmare.

Philippe eased down next to him on the bed, bestowing a kiss on the Chevalier’s good shoulder before resting his head upon it. He kept their fingers entwined and stared at this sweet man, once again peaceful in his repose now that the fever had left his body. They had a long road ahead, but it was one they would travel together.

 

 

The End


End file.
